Please
by FallenFromParadise
Summary: Alice has left Underland and hasn't returned, but for some strange reason  and if he's lucky , Tarrant can hear her voice.   Not what you'll be expecting...  Nope, you're still wrong. -Wink-  Quickie-read boys and girls.


Authors Note: I wish I could say this was something that's been on my mind ever since watching AiW(2010) and that I just had to get it out of my system before I could write another word about anything else... I wish I could say that it will be one of my most creative and inspired pieces, something that will never be able to be duplicated by anyone in the next century... The simple story about this is: I felt like it. Yeah, I said it, I felt like writing something for no reason except for my own entertainment, so haha! Take that, society! ... O_o Yeah.

_Warning: The result of putting caramel syrup and sugar in my coffee for a few hours(!) in a row... Buzz!_

Disclaimer: Lewis Carroll came to me in my dream saying that not even Disney owns Alice in Wonderland... Eat that one up, Burton! Just kidding (about the dream), I'm using the Burton adaptation that was inspired by the Lewis Carroll novels.

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Please

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Tarrant stared at the sewing wheel in front of him, the temptation to listen to the hypnotic hum of the device as it stitched the numerous amounts of cloth into creative and beautifully designed hats. Even now his hands held the lavender and gold fabric one of the queen's ladies-in-waiting had picked for their sun bonnet, but an even more alluring sound had him demurring from his beloved work.

He knew it was impossible, Alice had been away for neigh onto a year, but every so often he would hear her voice, a small whispered word that nagged on his mind. What the one word was, he could never understand, but that it was a word in Alice's own voice always gave his heart pause as his blood rushed into his throat.

The teasing beckoning of her single voiced word had, at first, always sent him from his appointed berth to run among the halls, looking for the ghost of a boy who'd long since left for grander things. Each time, he would end up being led back inside the bright and colorful workroom, the small and comforting hand of his queen resting on his shoulder as she murmured her condolences for his loneliness and reassurances that one day, he would be rewarded for his patience.

Closing his eyes he leaned against the high backed chair in front of his desk, scattered outlines of his profuse creations littering upon his desktop until it fluttered to the floor, urging the voice to come once again. Once more, before he turned his machines back on. The single unknown word, so soft that he could hardly hear it, had managed to keep him from falling into the deepest region of his mind.

Nevertheless, the voice hadn't repeated itself, and as unsurprised as he was, the disappointment of it still remained the same. Without regard to his feelings, his pleadings, it would remain silent and teasing at the edge of his sanity; setting up a high, thick wall to prevent him from crossing over.

Oh, how he would love to just cross over. Go into the comfort of his own mind to await the day until Alice would return, the silly little boy had even forgotten to tell him what day he should expect her back for tea! Though, as compensation, perhaps she would know why a raven was like a writing desk; as many people as he asked, no one had been able to give the correct answer. It really was such an annoying little riddle.

With a sigh he went back to his sewing wheel, placing the cut pieces of cloth onto the small platform to inspect the placements of his pins before putting them into the needles path. Really, he'd much prefer to make the bonnet out of the light straw he'd recently received, but dying the golden fibers was a chore and the lady had only wanted softer fabric that would feel pleasant on her skin.

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Alice weakly slid back against the wall, resting her head against the cold stone as her stomach lurched again, painfully constricting and cramping. She hadn't anything to fear, though, as the last she'd been fed was the room temperature vegetable soup with extra ingredients that she'd nearly mistaken as rice. Her water, however inconsistently given, was nearly always fresh; and if she drank it sparingly it would last nearly an entire day.

Even now the bowl sat in the center of the room covered with one of the larger rocks to prevent the larger insects from getting within. She'd received it the previous night and already it was dwindling, if she could hazard a guess then she supposed she'd have a little under two swallows left. It would probably have lasted longer, had she given up hope of ever escaping; yet she hadn't, though she had, since a few months back, taken to only scream once per day.

'Please'

To be honest, she wasn't sure what she was asking for anymore; at first it had been for freedom. For weeks into months, she begged regularly, pleading with the masked people who dressed as commoners but acted like royals. Then, she'd started begging for water; after the first few close calls they'd begun giving it to her every other day (she thought, though she wasn't sure as the only light she'd seen since her arrival was candle light). Food came after that, and she wasn't sure what had gone though her captor's mind's, but the amount given when she was served increased, but had been spaced far in between.

Now she just found herself wanting. Light, healthy food, clean water, even someone to talk to; she would trade her life, willingly, if only they allowed her a brief time in even the moonlight. Fresh air seemed like a luxury, and it sickened her to have forgotten the feeling of having it within her own lungs.

Every time the door opened to the small room she was in she would cringe with certain knowledge that they were coming to kill her before she could remember the feeling of standing within the sunshine. Then, every time the door closed after they left, she would cringe with certain knowledge that they would forget she was even there to begin with, and that she would die from either dehydration or starvation.

What she would give was more then what she had to give for anything to happen, be it good or bad; anything to break the cycle of how frightened she was. She was sure anyone else would have adapted to her situation, somehow, but she found herself unable to move in any direction. She'd thought, once, that she'd gotten over shivering contently in terror and cold, only to realize she'd actually managed to shiver so much at one time that she only appeared to be still.

'Please'

She no longer thought of rescue, certain that even if anyone knew she'd been taken, they'd assume her for dead. It didn't stop her from fantasizing, her dreams merging with her daydreams until she knew herself to sit about doing nothing but alternating between fantasy and 'her' reality. Day by day she knew herself to be drifting further and further away into the safety of imagination; building herself a life of joy and happiness. During the times away from that, she begun loathing herself for her weakness, knowing she was going down a path she would never be able to return on; then at the same time despise the fact she'd shaken herself from her fantasy.

Closing her eyes softly she released a sigh and licked her lips, her thrust begged to be quenched, but she pushed the thought back. While her mouth felt sticky and her teeth clung the the soft flesh inside of her mouth, but her throat hadn't gotten to that state, yet, so she held off. If she was patient this time, perhaps she would have enough to last her until when she woke from her next rest.

Instead of thinking more about it she pushed her mind back to her 'house' near the ocean, her cracked lips smiling a bit as her five-year-old daughter, Eliza, frolicked about in the waves with her laughing father. Once again, they had managed to cake themselves in the golden sand at their feet, and she quickly admonished them, didn't they know how difficult it was to wash sand out of the pockets of their clothes? She wouldn't even think of how long it would be until their hair was grain free; however they only laughed at her before Tarrant splashed her with the cool water, inviting her to join their game.

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Authors Note: Thus, my one shot. I love it! I adore it! I've obviously had way to much coffee, hahaha! That's right, Alice, go to your happy place! It's strange, when other people are this hyper they write random funny stuff, does this mean I'm twisted or something? I'll probably feel bad about shoving Alice away for no reason by random imaginary people, but for right now, for some reason I'm just laughing my ever-loving ass off. I got MAD skillz, baby... Bad girl, bad!

Anyhow, the hatter is referring to Alice as a 'boy' but is using 'she', too. I did this because I seen him doing it a couple of times here and there in both AiW and AiW(2010).


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